


For General Use

by pocketwatchangora



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bathing/Washing, Blood, Blood As Lube, Blow Jobs, Bottom John Marston, Brutality, Budding Love, Caretaking, Choking, Cuddling & Snuggling, Drunkenness, Dry Sex, Dubious Consent, Enthusiastic Consent, Everyone Is Gay, Explicit Consent, Extremely Dubious Consent, Forced, Fuck Dutch tbh, Gentle Arthur, Hair-pulling, High Honor Arthur Morgan, Hurt/Comfort, John Marston Whump, Literal Sleeping Together, Low Honor Dutch, M/M, Mental Instability, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Orders, Painful Sex, Panic, Poor John, Possessive Behavior, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prostitution, Protective Arthur Morgan, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rescue, Shyness, Spit As Lube, Sub John Marston, Tent Sex, Trauma, Violence, Waiting, possessive Dutch, uncomfortable sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:02:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26873365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pocketwatchangora/pseuds/pocketwatchangora
Summary: John Marston's role in the Van der Linde gang is slightly different to the others. Not only does he offer his discreet sexual services to men, for a respectable fee, but he also sleeps with members of the gang when the subject us brought.When he and Arthur start to accept their feelings for each other, Arthur wanting to do things right, things get a little messy.
Relationships: John Marston/Arthur Morgan, John Marston/Dutch van der Linde, John Marston/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 58





	1. Chapter 1

They stood at the bar together in companionable silence, arms almost touching as they sipped their drinks and minded their own business. 

"E-excuse me." A voice came from behind them and John reacted first to the tap on his shoulder, turning to face the middle-aged man with receding light brown hair in a too-small suit addressing him. Arthur leaned back from the bar, behind John, to look too, frowning. The bartender was elsewhere and no-one was near them. 

The man looked nervous, sweating and greasy, but he was looking John up and down with a tremulous smirk and a distinctly predatory glint in his eye. 

"Can we help you, buddy?" Arthur asked in a growling voice, glaring at him. The man jumped and looked at Arthur, apparently only just noticing him.

"Oh… Didn't realise you were with someone already." He said to John, disappointed. 

"What do you want?" John asked, frowning at him. The man gulped.

"I, uh… I heard you were… _available_?" He asked, stressing the word with a raise of his eyebrows and a suggestive tilt of his head. "I can pay." he added, hastily. "More than your… friend can, I'm sure." He glanced at Arthur with a pinched, haughty look of distaste. John snorted a laugh at that. 

"He ain't payin'." He said, patting Arthur's shoulder. The man looked hopeful then, and John shrugged. "Alright, fine. Out that way." He instructed, gesturing to the back door as he drained his glass. "Be right back." He muttered to Arthur, and was about to follow the stranger out when his wrist was grabbed, holding him back. 

"John, wait." Arthur hissed, a familiar worry making him antsy. John looked at him in slight surprise, then smirked. 

"Don't worry, it'll be quick." He said, glancing back at the stranger. He was lingering nervously by the back door, fidgety hands holding his hat over his crotch. John grinned at Arthur. " _Real_ quick." He added before leaving with the man. 

Arthur growled and finished his drink, waiting all of 30 seconds before heading out through the front door. He glanced towards Old Boy and his own pretty Tomeo (named for Tomeo Gozen, the female warrior a Japanese acquaintance had passionately told him about. She'd ridden wild horses as a hobby, his kind of gal) waiting patiently at the hitching post, grunting and snorting at each other conversationally. After taking a few breaths of the cool air, Arthur rounded the corner of the saloon and slipped down the side of the building. 

He could hear a man's pleasured voice before he even got halfway, some movement in the dark catching his eye. He stopped and crouched behind some crates, squinting to focus. He saw the man who had propositioned John leaning against the wall of the building next door, the general store if Arthur remembered right. John was kneeling in front of him, his head moving and bobbing rhythmically, and doing a good job if the man's groans of pleasure were anything to go by. Idiot, he should know to be quiet.

Arthur growled, resisting the confusing mixture of protective and possessive urges to sprint over and tackle the guy away from John. He did _not_ think about redirecting John's mouth... The old pervert's hands were in the younger man's dark hair, tugging at the tangles, but John didn't seem to notice as he dutifully carried out his task. 

Arthur felt like a real asshole for watching this, even falsely intimate as it was. He told himself he was just looking out for his brother, making sure the 'deal' went well, that the bastard paid up and didn't hurt John. It didn't help Arthur's self-justification that the whisky had gone to his head and his stomach, and there was a heat rubbing in his jeans that he didn't want to think about. 

Surprisingly soon, John had been right about that, the guy let out a gasp and a moan, his hands holding John's head still and close as he fucking into his mouth before burying himself with a curse. He released John, who leaned away quickly to spit to the side, muttering a curse of his own and panting for breath.

"Damn, boy, that was good…! H-how much do I owe you? Five?" The man asked, tucking himself back into his pants and wiping the sweat from his brow and upper lip. John sighed sharply, rising to his feet. He was much leaner than the other man, a good couple of inches shorter too, but his voice was all he needed as he leaned in close to him.

"Ten. Don't pull that shit or you'll get it bit off next time." He said, suddenly intimidating despite being on his knees a moment ago. The man nodded nervously, digging in his pockets as John leaned closer, one hand resting on the wall beside him, the other on his gun belt. When he let out an impatient sigh, the man apologised and finally pulled out several notes, fumbling like an idiot as he counted them. 

"Here. Will I s-see you around here again?" He asked eagerly as he handed John the money. John checked the notes slowly, holding them up in the lantern light nearby, before he smirked up at the man.

"Maybe." He said, pocketing the cash. Then he gave a jerk of his head, a dismissive gesture, and growled "Now, get lost." The man jumped and obeyed, scurrying off past Arthur, whom he either didn't see or refused to acknowledge given the illicit rendezvous. 

John spat again, just as Arthur appeared from the shadows, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and not at all surprised that the older man was lurking around. He usually was when John was 'working' and John would never tell him how grateful he was for that. 

"You got whisky? Or rum?" He asked, grimacing at the taste of his own mouth. Arthur grunted, pulling out an opened bottle of Guarma rum from his satchel and handed it to Marston. "Thanks. Prick tasted worse than Bill..." John muttered, taking a mouthful and swilling it around before spitting it out, then took another couple of gulps. "You done here?" He asked as he put the half bottle in his own bag, knowing Arthur wouldn't want it back. 

"Yeah, let's get outta here." He muttered. He wanted to get John away from any further clientele, that was the truth, wanted him away from any other men who looked at him like he was the prey to their predator. But even back at camp he got those looks, from Dutch and Bill and fucking _Micah_. He knew John was generally willing to sleep with male gang members if they asked, especially when the whisky was flowing freely, but Micah was a step too far and Arthur was very glad of that.

"You mind if we camp out tonight?" Arthur asked gruffly as they walked back to their horses. John looked at him as he climbed up onto Old Boy's high back, then shrugged. 

"Sure. Got an idea where?" He asked. Arthur simply nodded as he slipped comfortably into Tomeo's saddle, clicking his tongue so she moved off without another word, Old Boy and John right behind them. He waited until they were away from the town and its lit-up streets to adjust himself in his jeans, willing his erection away. 

He led them to a spot off the road, a good way out from the town but the opposite direction to camp. It was a little clearing in a group of trees, perfect for a fire and one tent, and hidden from the road. They got to work setting up and cooking some meat, made mint tea and shared another couple of drinks before turning in. 

They had a bedroll each, their own blankets in case it got cold, but they slept close together anyway, as they had done since John was 12 and newly taken in by the Van Der Linde gang. He'd had more nightmares back then, phantom ropes around his neck, men's hands and blood all over him. He still had these nightmares, still felt the terror as clearly as he had as a child, with new ones being made along the way, but they were much less frequent now. Still, Arthur would be there if and when they struck, waking him up with kind words and warm, welcome touches. John was grateful for that too. 

They were lying in the tent they shared, close but not quite touching, when John glanced up at Arthur's relaxed face, smooth in the campfire's glow through the canvas. 

"You, uh… you wanna? Noticed you was hard before…" he said. Arthur opened his eyes to look at him, saw his earnest face like he was offering to brush down his horse for him, and sighed. 

"Naw… Not until you actually want to." He said softly, reaching over to tuck John's hair back behind one ear. John was surprised by this, like _him_ wanting to was a completely new concept, and looked down. "I want to, Johnny, really. Just not yet. I want us to both want it equally, want you to enjoy it, and not just a quickie in a tent. We'll… get to know each other's bodies and give each other pleasure, not just me taking it from you." He said, consciously keeping any anger out of his voice in case John thought it was directed at him. The younger man looked into Arthur's blue eyes, studying them even in the dim light, and then he moved closer. 

Arthur watched as John shuffled himself right up against him, his brown eyes down shyly but glancing up to meet his own once or twice. It was rare John was shy about anything and, god _damn_ , was it incredibly endearing. 

Slowly, hesitantly, John's hand came up to brush Arthur's jaw, watching his own fingers feeling the short stubble, listening to the sound the bristles made against his skin and nails. Then their eyes met again and John let out a breath before he leaned forward, pressing their lips together. Arthur couldn't help the soft moan of relief that escaped his throat as he kissed him back, one hand moving to cup the small of John's waist. 

"Nobody's ever said somethin' like that to me before." John whispered when they parted. The kiss had stayed chaste, gentle and warm, but somehow that felt even more intimate. Arthur nodded sadly, keeping their faces close, their noses brushing softly. 

"I know… I don't want to be like the others." He said, brushing John's hair back again. John looked down and nodded, unsure of what to do now. This was uncharted territory for him. 

Arthur shifted slightly and wrapped his right arm around John's waist to pull him closer, onto his own bedroll. They adjusted accordingly, fixing blankets and shuffling until, finally, their bodies were flush and warm together, arms around each other. Arthur smiled, kissed John's forehead, and held him close. "Goodnight, John." He whispered, rubbing his back gently. John couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this… comfortable, alone or with someone. It felt so _right_. 

"Night, Arthur." He whispered back, and closed his eyes. There were no nightmares that night, none at all. 

*

Arthur woke up from one of the deepest sleeps he could remember to blueish early morning light and the sound of rain outside the tent, habitually looking up to check the canvas for leaks. No, all was well, though he made a mental note to refresh the wax on it anyway. He let out a sigh and shifted himself in preparation to stretch, the lightness in his mind on account of a truly good night's sleep. It wasn't until then that he realised his arms were wrapped around someone, someone close and warm and bony. Arthur looked down, blinking at the sleep still clouding his brain and crusting his eyes, and saw a mop of dark hair just below his chin. 

John… John was asleep beside him. And not just in the next bedroll, close enough to touch if he reached out, like usual. He was in Arthur's bedroll with him, Arthur's arms wrapped tight around him, John's face pressed against Arthur's neck as he continued to sleep. 

The memories of the previous evening came flooding back, good and bad. Arthur smiled, kissing John's head and holding him tighter, closer. Their bodies were aligned all the way down to their bare feet. Arthur had never been more comfortable beside another person, he realised, and that was why he'd slept so damn good. 

Arthur was starting to snooze again, fully ensconced in the high of having John so close, when some shouting outside made them both stir. Sounded like one of those police transport wagons, the criminal very displeased about getting caught and proclaiming their innocence to everyone they passed, nothing to worry about. 

John made an indignant noise at being woken up, burying his face against Arthur's throat in an effort to block the world out a little longer. The blond man chuckled and carded a hand through the dark hair.

"Morning, sunshine." He mumbled, voice thick and gravelly from sleep. John looked up at him with a start, obviously not awake enough to notice whose neck he was snuffling against. 

"Oh, shit, right…" he said, then a smile flooded his face and Arthur grinned.

"'Oh shit', indeed." He said with a chuckle, and placed a small kiss on John's lips. "This ok?" He felt like he should check. John looked at him for a moment, then smiled and nodded. 

"Real ok." He purred and Arthur grinned, kissing him again. John hesitantly kissed him back, then relaxed even further into him. "You got anything on today?" John asked, when they'd settled back into their comfortable embrace. 

"Was gonna do some hunting. Maybe ride around and see if I find somethin' to do…" he mumbled, half asleep again. Then he opened his eyes and looked down at him. "Why?" He asked with a smirk. John scoffed and sat up, leaving the warmth of the older man in favour of stretching his arms and back. 

"Just wondered. Thought maybe we could… spend some time together. Maybe rob a stagecoach or somethin'? Lenny mentioned a good spot not far from here." He said, looking back over his shoulder with a smile. Arthur huffed a laugh and sat up beside him.

"Sounds romantic." He said, then chuckled when John blushed. He grabbed the kid's far shoulder and pulled him close, kissing the side of his head. "I'd love to." He added, close to his ear. John shivered and nodded. 

"Alright. I'll go put some coffee on…" he said, pressing a kiss to Arthur's lips before he scurried from the warm confines of the tent. Arthur breathed in deeply, smiling like a fool, before following. Again, they settled into their tasks as easily as slipping into a saddle; John got the fire back up to a good flame and put the coffee on to boil, while Arthur went about packing up the tent and caring for the horses. 

They cooked some more meat and shared some bread with their hot drinks, sitting in the light rain with their hats on, changing glances at each other and smiling. They had reached a turning point, it seemed, both clear on what the other wanted, and excited about where this new relationship of theirs would take them. They didn't, however, factor in Dutch. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dutch has his own plans for John, and won't be disobeyed.
> 
> TW: graphic dub/non-con, brutal and painful sex, blood, ignoring the word 'stop', violence, choking. No punches pulled.

Dutch came strolling past the campfire, looking over Arthur and John thoughtfully. They were sitting close together, comfortably silent as they smoked a cigarette each. A nice scene he could not leave unbroken.

"Cozy, boys?" He asked, snide. They both glanced up at him and shrugged in near-perfect synchronisation, which irritated him. He huffed a humourless laugh, licked his lips, eyes glowing orange in the darkness. "John." He said his name like a command, always. 

The younger man looked up at him sharply, his voice startling in the peacefulness, cigarette dangling from between his lips. Dutch gestured him up and John breathed out the smoke before he obeyed, dropping the cigarette he'd really been enjoying into the fire. Arthur watched Dutch from under his hat, eyes narrowed in what felt very nearly like hatred. John's long legs walked into his field of vision and Arthur saw the hunger in their adopted father's eyes as he clapped a hand around the back of John's neck and gripped, pushing him towards his own tent. 

John  _ hated _ people touching his neck. Arthur saw his shoulder blades bunch and his back go stiff as they walked off. It was a cruel thing for Dutch to do, knowing what he knew.

"God-fuckin'-damn it…" Arthur muttered under his breath, dropping his cigarette into the fire too. It tasted bitter now. 

*

John had to force himself not to fight Dutch's hold on his neck, the familiar panic from his childhood trauma rearing its ugly head and tightening his chest. Dutch should know about that response by now but, then again, maybe he just didn't care. 

They walked to Dutch's tent in a distinctly  _ uncomfortable _ silence, a total antithesis of the moment he and Arthur had just been enjoying, and the closeness between them felt nothing but stifling to John. Nobody else was around, either sleeping or out on the town, pissing their latest train robbery up the saloon wall. 

Arthur's here, he kept thinking; Arthur could stop this. Arthur could save him. He knew it was a stupid wish; Arthur was just as much in Dutch's pocket as John was - hell, maybe even more so, given his staunch loyalty. John had felt his own slipping for a couple of years now, and that divide was only deepened by his time in Dutch's tent. 

They arrived at the dreaded place faster than John hoped, Dutch pushing him through the canvas and glanced around before following. He huffed like he was angry, like a bull, and started undoing his own trousers. John did the same, he didn't need to be told anymore. 

He pushed his suspenders off his shoulders and leaned over their habitual crate once his ass was exposed, hitching up his shirt and spreading his legs. It was just a job to him now, something that had to be done whether he wanted to or not. Arthur said he'd only do it if John wanted to as well... Why didn't Dutch feel the same…?

Dutch spat on his hand and pressed two fingers inside John without any preamble, thrusting them in hard and deep. John clenched his teeth, breathed through it; he was used to the sting by now too. 

"Tight…" Dutch muttered, like he hadn't been expecting that. John didn't reply, not really sure why it mattered. Even when he was virgin-tight from being away for several weeks, he got the same treatment as if someone had  _ just _ pulled their cock out of him, dripping cum and all. 

He felt Dutch pull his fingers out before he spat directly on his hole. There was some further rustling of fabric and clinks of metal before he felt that familiar blunt heat against his entrance. John braced himself on the hard crate his chest was resting on, the edge digging uncomfortably into his stomach as he shifted to spread his legs wider, as much as his jeans would allow. "Good boy…" Dutch muttered, smacking both hands down onto his ass with surprising aggression and making John grunt softly. 

The angle of his neck made his breathing awkward, which didn't help the panic still pressuring his chest, even without Dutch's weight on him. He didn't have time to adjust before Dutch was thrusting inside him, burying himself right to the root in the barely prepared hole. John let out a groan of pain that he only just managed to muffle by biting into his own forearm, willing his muscles to relax even as tears sprang into his eyes. Dutch let out a grunt of frustration and rocked himself back and forth until he was able to move more freely, only worsening the pain for John, every shift an agony.

"You been… spendin' a lot of time-… with Arthur." Dutch growled, his voice jolting with his own movements and current… restriction. "Guess he ain't as  _ big _ as he looks, huh? Or thinks." He said with a derisive snort, grinding himself further inside the clenched passage.

John was so focused on not making any kind of pained noise that he didn't immediately register what he'd said. When he didn't respond fast enough, Dutch grabbed a handful of his hair and pulled him up to speak in his ear, John's head harshly cocked to the side, neck stretched back to its limit, his back bowed almost unnaturally, all while the older man fucked him brutally.

The slender young man's weight was supported solely on his hands, struggling to stay braced on the crate's edges, and on his lower belly, his sharp hip bones rocking hard into the unyielding wood. "Well? You been lettin' Arthur fuck ya?" Dutch snarled angrily.

"W-what…?" John asked breathlessly, confused and in pain from all angles. Dutch growled and snapped his own hips forward, making John choke on a whimper. He was sure he was torn, it felt too slick for just a little spit or even precome, and it hurt worse than usual; a steady, burning pain that surged with every harsh slide. His body felt hot and cold all over, sweat beading on his brow while his legs and hands trembled. 

"You ain't been around the last couple'a times I've wanted ya. Been off with  _ Arthur _ every night. Care to explain that?" Their leader demanded, through clenched teeth, continuing his roughness. Dutch wasn't usually this cruel or brutal, not at all. He generally fucked John in a fairly business-like manner, just to scratch an itch, and he  _ never _ talked this much. 

"I don't- We just been s-spendin' a little more- time together... huntin' and shit..- Th-that's all, Dutch…!" The young man said, not sure what he wanted him to say. 

They didn't have any kind of agreement that stated John had to be available for sex at any given time, he wasn't at anyone's beck and call. He wanted to say as much but Dutch started picking up the pace, his thrusts deep and hard, hand still buried in the young man's tangled hair. This time, John couldn't bite down the cry of pain as it consumed his thoughts. "It- it hurts, Dutch- Please, s-slow down...!" the grip on his hair tightened, the thrusting becoming even harder, the pain unbearable. John felt his head begin to spin, his vision darkening around the edges. He would pass out if this continued. 

"Shut the fuck up. I am your master, boy, you do as  _ I _ say." Dutch snarled, breathing feral as he fucked into John. He could see blood when he pulled out but ignored it, glad for the lubrication, like fucking a woman. He laughed at his own thought through clenched teeth, moving his hand from John's hair to the back of his neck, squeezing and pressing him back down into the crate. That was when the panic really started again and John let out a frightened cry, starting the struggle against him. 

"S-stop, Dutch,  _ please- _ I can't…- Let me go, I'm b-beggin' ya…!" He whimpered, his lungs burning with panic, chest seizing. His jeans were rumpled around his ankles, Dutch's dominating hips and the height of the stacked crates bringing him too high for even John's long legs to fully reach the ground, boots scrabbling in the dirt without purchase. Dutch just kept thrusting, the terrified clenching of the boy's insides felt sensational. 

"That's good, tighten up for me. Shut your whining." he rumbled, slamming in hard and punching a startled, whimpering cry from the young man. Dutch leaned forward and put his lips beside John's ear, squeezing his large hand around his throat just enough to hear his breathing cut off. "You're mine, boy, don't you forget that." 

*

Arthur sat, frozen, by the fire, trying desperately not to listen. He heard them sometimes; heard Dutch anyway, John rarely made any sound at all. But, today, he could hear John loud and clear, and they weren't good noises. Pained whimpers and startled cries barely suppressed, the sounds of what could only be very rough thrusts. Each one made Arthur wince and clench his fists tighter.

It wasn't until he heard John speak, words of pain and fear, telling Dutch he was hurting him, asking him to slow down, that Arthur finally stood up. He waited, stock still, for Dutch to apologise and cease his movements, be more gentle or ask John if he was ok. He waited a long time, it seemed, too long, then he heard the thrusts get harder and John's hoarse voice rang out in panic,  _ begging _ Dutch to stop, and the hurried slams and slapping flesh only got louder. 

Arthur growled and stalked towards their leader's tent, unable to listen anymore. He needed to stop this, stop Dutch hurting John  _ again _ . 

"You're mine, boy, don't you forget that." 

Arthur ripped the canvas back from the doorway, rage fueling him. Dutch had John bent over a crate, his hand wrapped tightly around the young man's throat from behind as he fucked into him. Even from where he stood, Arthur could hear John struggling to breathe, both from terror and clear strangulation. There was blood on the inside of what Arthur could see of John's thighs, and Dutch was still buried to the hilt inside him. 

"Arthur?! W-what the hell are you doing- get out!" Dutch cried, taken aback by the brazen entrance. He remained where he was, his grip even seemed to tighten on John's neck, as if to punish him for Arthur's actions. John's eyes were wide, wild, and tearful in panic, looking up at Arthur as much as he could.

"He told you to stop, Dutch." Arthur rumbled, glaring at their leader. "I suggest you  _ stop _ ." He didn't want it to become a physical confrontation, no fists or guns or knives. He feared for John's safety and just wanted to get him away without coming to blows with their leader.

Dutch let out a harsh laugh and viciously thrust himself into John, grinning with all of his teeth at John's prone body before him. The young man bit down hard on his own lip, letting out a tiny sob of pain. Dutch was in the process of truly choking the boy.

"Ain't  _ this _ what you do to him yourself, Arthur?" Dutch snarled, voice high and wavering. He sounded like a madman. "You fuck this little whore as much as any of us, you ain't got no right to-" he barely noticed Arthur storm up to him, but certainly noticed a large, hard fist slam into his jaw. The older man stumbled sideways, his cock slipping free from John as he coughed and gasped for air, tripping over his own pants. 

Arthur immediately pulled off his own jacket and put it around John's shoulders, helping him up. He was trembling and in pain as he moved to touch Arthur's chest, grateful for his support. Their hands found each other, squeezing, and Arthur wrapped an arm around his waist. He leaned down to pull John's pants up, the younger man hissing in pain, leaning on his shoulders, but they got them fastened quick enough. 

Their leader sat there dumbly, ass naked in the dirt, unsure of what to do, whether or not he should get up and fight, or insult them, or admit defeat. John pulled in a deep breath and looked at him angrily, hands on Arthur's thick biceps to keep himself strong. He wasn't going to give Dutch the option. Not anymore.

"I… I don't belong to no-one, Dutch." He said, and he and Arthur left the tent as an entwined unit. Beneath Arthur's rage and shock and sadness, he was incredibly proud of John, and held him close as they walked out into the cold night air. 

Suddenly realising what had just happened, or maybe the adrenaline just dropped him like a bag of sand, John's knees finally gave out and he fell against Arthur almost as soon as their boots met grass. The older man caught him automatically, holding him close. He was shaking something awful.

"S'ok, I got you…" the older man said softly, getting his other arm under John's knees and lifted him up, carrying him with surprising ease towards his own tent. "'Safe now, John, you're alright." He mumbled against John's cheek. John gripped his shirt tightly, lower lip between his teeth and tears rolling down his face. Arthur sat him on his cot, apologising when he hissed in pain, and knelt down in front of him. He looked up into his tear-streaked face and smiled gently, reaching up slowly to tuck his hair back. "You did so good, Johnny, I'm so proud a' you." He said, with true sincerity. His rough thumb swept along under his eyes, catching a few tears on his own skin. 

"Arthur…" was all he could get out before the older man wrapped him up in a bone-crushing hug, letting him sob into his shoulder. Arthur hushed and soothed him softly, rubbing his back in constantly slow circles, stroking his hair and whispering praise. John's trembling hands gripped the back of Arthur's shirt, letting himself cry, and tried not to think about what this meant for their future in the gang.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short one for the aftermath directly after the last chapter! More soon

"C'mon, we gotta get you cleaned up…" Arthur whispered, holding John's arms gently as he leaned away. The poor kid had cried himself exhausted, just sniffling and shuddering now. Part of Arthur wanted to just let him sleep but knew he needed to be properly taken care of. 

Once he was sure John was lucid enough to understand what was happening, he dug in his own satchel for a moment before pulling out a potent miracle tonic. He handed it to John, telling him to drink it down, which he did without hesitation. 

Arthur hauled himself up, his knees stiff and groaning from kneeling in the dirt, and offered his hand to the younger man. John looked up at him, eyes still wide and shiny, and took it. Arthur pulled him up, a hand on his waist until he was steady, then kept it there as he guided him from the tent. 

The camp was close to a decently large creek, which became a river a few miles east. It was cold but the water was clean and it wasn't too deep, nor the current too fast. They arrived, armed with towels and spare clothes collected from John's things, and Arthur helped him get stripped off when his balance wasn't quite there. 

They didn't speak, a heavy silence between them where it was usually comfortable. John barely looked at Arthur, just the occasional nervous glance, and Arthur was too caged in his own mind to attempt further comforts. He was so incredibly angry at Dutch, he could spit. How  _ dare _ Dutch treat one their own like that? 

It had been made clear from the start of John's 'position' in the camp that no act of violence, nothing non-consensual, could ever take place, the same went for the women. Arthur thought about if Dutch had been caught treating Annabelle or one of the others the same way, what would have happened? What if others in the camp had witnessed what he'd just seen? Who would have been the ones to back Arthur and John up, and who would have stayed behind Dutch?

He was pondering Hosea's hypothetical stance on the matter when he became aware of an excess of splashing, and returned to himself to see John up to his neck in the water, apparently having fallen. Arthur, who was paddling serenely to keep Jonn company, rushed to him with the ferocity of a mama bear protecting her cub. He grabbed John under the arms and hauled him up, the young man clinging to him, panting and coughing. 

"I-I-I slipped…!" He spluttered, shaking like a leaf in a thunderstorm. Arthur held him close as he moved them both closer to the bank, keeping John against himself.

"Anythin' hurt?" Arthur asked once they had secure footing, up to their thighs in the cold water. John shook his head, teeth chattering. "Did ya get washed up?" Another shake of the head. "Ok, well… I'll hold you up, and you do what you gotta. I won't look, swear." He said and John nodded against his neck, sniffling. Arthur grabbed the soap from the rock he'd set it on and gave it to John, hands on his narrow ribs while the younger man washed himself with barely suppressed gasps of pain, teeth tugging at the shoulder of Arthur's now soaked shirt.

After a few unbearable moments of staring at the clouds and trying not to listen, Arthur began to tell a story of a feller he'd met by the name of Thomas S. Sawyer, who knew absolutely nothing of Mark Twain or his books. When Arthur explained the plot to him, he said, the man had become outraged and swore that the book was a direct parody of his own life because he, too, had once whitewashed a fence.

Arthur's warm, deep chuckle helped John relax and even laugh a little too, though the story was a complete fabrication on Arthur's part. Hosea had insisted they both read the Twain novels once they'd mastered the basics, and both enjoyed them thoroughly. 

Finally, John softly informed him he was done, moving to a slighter point of the creek to rinse off, and they climbed out of the water. Arthur grabbed a towel and wrapped the shivering John in it, rubbing up and down his arms, then picked up the spare union suit. 

"Here. C'mon, before you turn blue." he teased, smiling, and John grumbled a quivering insult. He dressed quickly, adding some jeans, boots and a thick knitted sweater Arthur had got from a fishing town somewhere up north. 

Arthur got himself dried off good enough, he was better with the cold, and smiled at his companion's appearance. "Alright, ready to head back?" He asked once they were done, understanding that John would be reluctant to return. Hell, he wouldn't blame the kid if he  _ never _ wanted to go back, though he hoped it wouldn't come to that. 

John glanced at him and nodded stiffly, audibly swallowing. Arthur wrapped an arm around him, feeling how tense he was, and kissed the side of his head. "You'll stay with me for a while, ok?" He asked, offered. John looked at him and gave a small smile. 

"Thanks, Arthur." He said hoarsely. Arthur nodded, putting their foreheads together briefly, then moved away to gather the wet clothes and towels. He'd washed the pants and union suit John had been wearing, saving the poor girls some work. 

"C'mon." He said, shifting the soggy bundle to his left arm and holding out his right hand. John grinned shyly and took it, linking their fingers together with grateful tightness, and taking half the bundle to carry from him. 

They went back to camp, stopped at Arthur's tent so he could change out of his own damp clothes, and hung out the wet things to dry on the air. John stayed close to Arthur, like a kicked puppy. 

They could hear loud voices from far off and assumed it was the others on their drunken way back. Quickly, the two absconded into Arthur's tent, closing the canvas around them.

"We can go camp someplace else, if you wanna?" Arthur offered as they lay on his cot together, sensing John's building tension at the sudden shouts fast approaching. John shook his head again, trying to keep his breathing steady. 

"No… no, 'm alright." He said, taking a deep breath. Arthur wrapped an arm around him, rubbing his back. 

"Sure." He said softly, and John let his own head drop against the broad shoulder. 

They could hear the comically loud shushing, either from those trying to sleep in camp, or some of the rabble-rousers trying to be responsible. They heard Sean's crystal clear bellowing at them to all 'FECK OFF' and Lenny's hysterical laughter, and couldn't stop themselves sniggering too. 

"They're  _ loaded…" _ John whispered, and Arthur snorted in an effort to stay relatively quiet, both grinning in the moon-contrasting darkness. 

"Bill sounds like he's gonna kiss one of 'em." The older man mumbled, both creasing up again when Bill could be heard telling Charles how perdy his hair was. Charles politely wished him goodnight, obviously perturbed by this, and that only caused the eavesdroppers more amusement. 

Then Dutch's voice rang out across the camp, stopping every heart, every whisper. John's whole body tensed in an instant and he shrank closer against Arthur's side. 

"Would you pieces of shit shut the fuck up for once?!" Dutch snarled, venom spitting from every word, and the camp fell into eerie silence. John turned into Arthur and buried his face in his collar, shaking all over again. 

_ Fuck, _ Arthur thought as he tried to soothe him,  _ this was bad.  _ He held John tightly until he fell asleep, keeping up his quiet assurances and gentle hands so he finally relaxed into him. 

Listening to his soft breaths helped Arthur focus, his mind reeling with solutions to this problem but all he ever went back to was abandoning the gang. Dutch would never admit to his actions, 'sorry' didn't seem to be in vocabulary anymore, if it ever had been. 

John was strong but, if this incident had rattled him as much as it seemed to have done, he wouldn't be able to stand being here anymore. What would happen next time someone asked him for the use of his body, or someone grabbed his wrist too tight, for that reason or any other? He couldn't just swallow it down; he'd react, either in anger or fear, and then questions would be raised. 

"What in the hell are we gonna do...?" Arthur whispered, looking up at the moonlight-dappled canvas above them. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, please leave me a kudos and a comment! 😁
> 
> Check out my Instagram (@pocketwatchangora) and Twitter (@pocketwatchang1) for NSFW fan art, and my other stories on AO3!


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